


just a silhouette

by weatheredlaw



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Parent Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9467351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: It is Theseus, though. And while Newt has nothing but love for his brother, there is always a small degree ofchaosthat follows him wherever he goes.A family trait, he suspects.





	

**Author's Note:**

> wow hello friends. apologies for the lack of...anything. i started school around the time of my last piece and i've just been swamped and exhausted and playing a lot of dungeons and dragons. wanted to explore a bit of a different approach on the scamander backstory. and this may have brought up another trope i want to deal with so we'll see! perhaps my energy level is balancing once more.

She poses the question so easily – it lingers between them, a statement not truly meant to be responded to, something he doesn’t have an answer for. It isn’t even that the question itself is particularly traumatizing, it is only…Newt doesn’t _think_ on it, hasn’t in some time. Not because it troubles him, though it does if he is honest, as any sort of trauma incurred in one’s youth often does – but rather, because he has spent the second half of his life _since_ trying to keep himself so busy that he does _not_ remember it.

He suspects Tina is quite the same. He remembers that night at the Goldstein sisters’ table, and Queenie’s face when she told them about their parents. How _easy_ it was for her to say, and then move on from.

That, Newt suspects, is the final stage of grief. Being able to say it, to say, “My parents are dead,” the same way you might say, “The roast is finished.”

(He suspects it is also a coping mechanism of sorts. Something that must be studied further.)

Tina sips on her third glass of wine, cheeks pink and rather delicious under the light of the dining room at the Pegasus. “Your brother is really the only person the Minister is having chase after Grindelwald?”

“Well when you say it like that…”

Tina laughs. “I’m sorry. I’m just…picturing an older version of you, I guess. All on your own.”

“Theseus and I look quite different, actually. And behave completely different. And…enjoy very different things.”

“You don’t get along.”

Newt shakes his head. “On the contrary. My brother and I are quite close. I worry about him, honestly. He worries for me as well.”

Tina nods, switching to water and chewing on a piece of bread. “Well, between the two of you, you must have your mother worried sick.”

The sentence drops like deadweight into Newt’s lap, but he recovers quickly. He gives her a smile, a soft huff of laughter, and drains his wine glass.

Tina smiles, and opts for another of her own.

Later, he kisses her under lamplight, and doesn’t remember the conversation ‘til tomorrow, mid-day.

 

* * *

 

He visits her several times after that, though his most recent visit is interrupted by Grindelwald’s escape from MACUSA, and Tina is gone for several days. Newt has to leave, and manages to catch her in her office as he’s running to get his portkey. She is distraught.

“Don’t blame yourself, please,” he murmurs, after the fifth time she’s wondered what she could have done.

“But I—” Newt kisses her, swallows the question until she relaxes under his hands. “Thank you.”

“I will be back,” he says. “Soon. But right now I have to go to Brazil.”

“That seems important.”

“Very important. I will return, though.” He kisses her cheek. “I promise.”

 

* * *

 

He makes good on his word, though there is a minor pit stop in London to sort of refresh and relax before returning to the hustle of New York. Newt joins his brother for dinner, seeing him for the first time in over a year, and fields awkward questions about his intentions with “his American.”

“Do you love her?”

“I think so.”

“That’s very sweet, Newton.” Theseus drains his glass of vodka and signals the waiter for another. “Quite romantic. Can you give me a tour of the place, while I’m there?”

Newt frowns. “What?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you, did I?”

“You’re very drunk, Theseus.”

“Yes, I know.” Theseus coughs into his napkin and thanks their server. “But I need to be in New York tomorrow. Can I share your portkey with you?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“ _Excellent._ I need to meet with Graves. You know him, right?”

Newt shrugs. “In small ways.”

“Yes, I understand you met him under…unsavory circumstances.”

Newt sighs. “Your continuing habit of referring to my initial trip to New York by various adjectives is no longer endearing.”

Theseus takes a long drink. “Should we just settle on _disaster_ , then?”

Newt grabs his own glass and drains it. “Why not?”

 

* * *

 

Graves tells him Tina is busy without prompting, something Theseus _snorts_ at, before suggesting his younger brother join their meeting.

“I’ll wait outside,” Newt says, and takes up a silent vigil on the wall opposite the door for almost an hour, before it opens and Theseus and Graves emerge, both looking rather grim.

“We’ll keep doing what we can,” Percival says. He leans on a dark wooden cane, now, and shakes Theseus’s hand with his free one. “I appreciate your coming here on such short notice.”

“Not a problem, sir.” Theseus finally smiles. “Glad to finally make it. I’ll keep in touch, and I’m sure you’ll be one of the first to know if or _when_ the Minister comes to his senses.”

Graves snorts. “I’ll keep him in my thoughts I suppose.” He nods to them both before returning to his office.

Theseus sighs. “That was painful. I need a drink.”

“It’s hardly noon.”

“Yes, but it’s past _dinner_ back home.”

Newt frowns. “Theseus…”

“Oh, come off it, Newt.” He brushes past his younger brother. “Introduce me to your American. We’ll all go out for whatever it is New Yorkers are drinking.”

“I’m not—”

Sensible shoes click around the corner, and Newt hears Tina say quietly, “You’re back.”

He turns to her. “Hello.”

She grins, striding forward and embracing him, before realizing Theseus is there and taking a sizeable step back. “Oh. Oh, hello. You’re—”

“Theseus Scamander, delighted to meet you. You must be Newt’s America— _ah!_ ” Theseus holds his side where Newt’s thrust an elbow to shut him up. “You must be Tina,” he grits out.

Tina raises a brow. “I am.”

“Are you also free, by chance? Newt was just telling me that he would love for everyone to get a drink.”

“Or dinner,” Newt says loudly. “Or nothing at all.”

Tina smiles. “I don’t know about going anywhere, really. I’m…completely exhausted, if I’m being honest. But Queenie’s cooking up something good at home I’ll bet. You’re both welcome to join us there.”

“We couldn’t—”

“Sounds _splendid_ ,” Theseus says, and puts a hand on either of their shoulders to lead them down the hall. They walk for a few moments before he says sagely to Tina, “Perhaps you should lead the way.”

She looks a Newt. “Probably.”

 

* * *

 

Queenie is overjoyed to meet Theseus, and she absorbs him into their orbit in no time, while Newt stands rather helplessly on the border of the kitchen clutching his bag in one hand and the corner of the counter with the other. He feels Tina’s fingers curl around his wrist and he spares one last look back at his brother and Queenie before letting her pull him into the living room.

“This is a nice surprise.”

“I’m _very_ sorry,” Newt says, but Tina shakes her head and uncurls his fingers from around the handle of his case.

“Don’t be,” she murmurs, leaning in and pressing herself against his coat. Newt suppresses a shiver as he feels her hands come up to begin undoing the less necessary parts of his ensemble, until he is relaxed and can recline on the sofa with Tina in his arms.

Theseus pokes his head around the corner. “You two look comfy. Ready to eat?”

“Starved,” Tina says, and pulls Newt to the table.

Overall, it’s not a terrible encounter. Things, in Newt’s opinion, always have the potential to be _worse_ than they actually are, so he counts it as a small blessing that Theseus is on his best behavior, though he certainly does have more to drink than Newt would have recommended.

It is _Theseus_ , though. And while Newt has nothing but love for his brother, there is always a small degree of _chaos_ that follows him wherever he goes.

A family trait, he suspects.

After dinner, once the plates are cleared and the girls are milling about putting together dessert, Theseus turns and says, “We need to talk about something.”

Newt sighs. “Can’t it wait?”

His brother snorts. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you about.”

“Something unpleasant,” Newt mutters, sloshing his wine around in his glass.

“Well, only a bit.”

Newt nods, motioning for Theseus to follow him onto the balcony. They stand, nursing twin glasses, while Theseus scuffs at the metal railing with his shoe. “Out with it,” Newt says.

“It’s about the house.”

“…I see.”

Theseus sighs. “We can’t keep it, Newt. It’s old, it’s _enormous_ , and no one _wants_ it. I think we could get a fair price for it if we sold it—”

“It’s _our house._ ”

“Yes, which is why we’re allowed to _sell it_ —”

Newt frowns. “No. I mean that it’s _ours._ We grew up there, it’s got our bloody _name_ on it.”

“Names can be…removed.”

“ _Removed?_ ” Newt feels his cheeks go _hot._ “You can’t just…just _take it off_ like that, like it was never there—”

“Oh come off it, Newt. When was the last time you were there?”

Newt scowls. “That hardly matters.”

“It does though.” Theseus leans closer. “It’s like it’s _haunted_ , Newton. I was there two weeks ago. It’s dusty and _old._ It’s got the same photos in it we never took down. It’s got a _hundred_ rooms—”

“Thirty-seven,” Newt mutters.

“And will you be having thirty children fill those rooms? Because I certainly don’t plan on it.”

“That’s hardly the point.”

Theseus takes a moment to drain his wine glass. “Then what _is?_ ”

Newt doesn’t answer.

“I need more to drink.”

“That’s the last thing you need.”

“Well if you’re going to be a little _prick_ about the whole thing, then I believe I certainly _will_ —” Theseus opens the door and heads back into the sitting room. “Like I said, it’ll fetch a fair price.”

Newt follows. “…And how do you know that?”

Theseus shrugs, filling his glass and turning back to his brother with a smile. “I did a bit of _research._ A friend of mine from school deals in magical properties and homes. He said it would sell for a profit.”

“Of course it’s a profit. The house is older than this _city._ ”

Tina pokes her head around the corner. “Everything alright?”

“ _Fine_ ,” they both say. She raises a brow.

Newt turns to Theseus. “We’ll finish this discussion later.”

“Or you could just _fucking_ agree with me. You never go back there, you’ve no _intention_ of going back there, and you _know_ if you did you’d _see them_ , Newt. You’d see those boys. They aren’t even boys anymore, they’re _men._ They’re men and they’ve got no fucking clue—”

“ _Shut up_ ,” Newt says, but it falls more like a _snarl_ between them.

Theseus flinches, but recovers fast. “It’s like you don’t remember.”

“Of course I remember. I remember every single part of it, every single _minute_ of it, because it happened to me.” Newt leans in and grabs his brother by the front of his shirt, wrenching the wine glass from his hand. “Don’t you _ever_ tell me what I don’t know about our parents. I will _never_ forget.”

Theseus doesn’t fight back. “Then maybe it’s time to _let go_ , Newt. Let go of the house, of all the photos. They’re gone. The house is empty. Hanging onto it isn’t going to make it happen any different, or end any other way.”

Newt feels his grip loosen, and Theseus frees himself.  

“Sleep on it, little brother. I’m sorry I hurt you, that wasn’t my intention.” And he leans in, grasping Newt tight before kissing his temple. “I’ll come back in the morning. To say goodbye.”

 

* * *

 

To her credit, Queenie doesn’t say anything. She lets Newt tell the story.

When Newt was thirteen, Theseus came to Hogwarts and took him home. He told him there’d been an accident, and their parents hadn’t made it. He told him that everything would be alright, because Theseus could take care of them both, and Newt would always be safe at Hogwarts.

The Ministry’s official records list the deaths of Arthur and Renda Scamander as accidents, because they Obliviated the muggles who killed them.

“Murdered,” Newt says. “On their way home from the theatre. We lived in a safe town, but my parents liked to see shows in the muggle hamlet a few miles west. It was safe too, I suspect. No one really suspect anything like that.”

“The Ministry didn’t want to cause a scene.”

“No,” Newt says dryly. “Bad for their image.”

Tina leans in and wraps her arms around her neck. “I’m sorry, Newt. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She shakes her head. “No. It’s not.” Her lips press against the curve of his neck, and Newt holds her closer. “It never is.”

“It’s…gotten better.”

“It does, eventually,” Queenie says.

“Easier,” Tina murmurs.

“Farther away,” Newt whispers, and closes his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The thing Newt remembers most about it all is looking up to see his brother standing in the doorway of his transfiguration class, and how _elated_ he was to have him there. Even in grief, Theseus smiled, looked happy and pleased. It didn’t matter, and it still _doesn’t_ matter, how old Newt was or is – having his brother in any immediate space around him always fills him with a familiar, careful joy.

They have coffee while the sisters make themselves scarce.

“I wanted to apologize, Newt.”

“No, I need to—”

Theseus raises a hand. “Please. Hear me out.” Newt leans back. “Over the last few years or so I’ve…disconnected from it. It’s been easier, I suppose. That’s how I took care of you, it’s how I’ve done my job at the ministry…if it’s far away, then it can eventually be left behind.” He sighs. “But I don’t think some things are meant to be left behind.”

“They come back.”

“They do. And _hard_ , don’t they?”

Newt smiles. “Sometimes.”

“I was selfish about the house. It _is_ ours, and it _does_ have our bloody name on it. If we want it, then we make it our own. To _hell_ with profit.”

Newt blinks. “Do you…do you mean that?”

“I do.” Theseus leans forward. “This war with Grindelwald is going to be hard won, and I think we could use a place to be _safe_ in. Next month, I’m going to take a week or so away. I want you to come with me. Bring Tina, bring Queenie. Hell, bring _Percival._ But I want to clean the place, and I want to make it _ours_ again.”

Theseus puts out a hand, palm turned upward.

“Are you with me, little brother?”

Newt looks at him, sees the red-rimmed eyes and lines beginning to form around his mouth, the stress of everything suddenly coming down _, hard_ , on them both.

To have a place, a place they _agree_ is their own…

“We’ll always _have_ them, Newt.”

“I know.”

“We’re the last Scamanders. For the time being anyway.” He grabs Newt’s hand. “It’s our _fucking_ house.”

Newt grins. “It is.”

“ _It is._ ”

“Alright.”

“Yeah?”

Newt laughs. “Yes. _Yes_ , let’s do this.”

“ _Alright!_ ” Theseus stands. “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. I’ll send you an owl when I can get a moment, and we’ll plan it out. We’re going to make it a place for family again, Newt, I promise you.”

Newt stands with him, coming around the table and embracing his brother. “That’s all I want.”

“Me, too, little brother. Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ weatheredlaw


End file.
